


Ducks in a Row

by bauer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bondage, Gang Rape, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Tickling, Unsafe Sex, Writing on Skin, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If your boyfriend leaves you tied to a bed and your team finds out about it, you're gonna have a bad time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up three months late with Starbucks and a full fill*
> 
> I, uh, just found this in my drafts after forgetting about it while I was stranded in LAX for too damn long. This is not the Swedish boyfriends fic you're looking for. It's definitely rape, and Ricky doesn't really enjoy himself. Let me know if I can more clearly tag. Chapter 1 is the new stuff in Ricky's POV, Chapter 2 is the original fill from Kesler's.

The cuffs go on easy; soft leather buckled with softer hands. Two fingers check the tightness, then trail up to squeeze the back of his palm. “Are they loose enough?”

 _“Yes,”_ Rickard says. “Why don’t you ever ask if they’re tight enough?” He tries pulling his arms in, but there isn’t much slack. Just enough to be frustrating if Rickard wanted to struggle. If nothing else, Hampus is good at this part.

“Well, I can always trust you for input,” Hampus says, laughing before letting go of Rickard’s hand and leaning back. “How about your legs? Are they okay?”  

Rickard tries kicking his legs, but they’re even more immobilized than his arms. They can barely move in any direction, and when he tries to squeeze his ankles together, the rigid restriction holding them apart sends a jolt through his dick. Still, he’s a bit _too_ comfortable. It’s the same position he’d be in if he was just lying in bed. “Spread the bar farther.” 

Rickard can feel Hampus hesitate. He looks over his shoulder to see Hampus worry at his lip as his eyes scan Rickard’s legs, assessing. “Babe. Come on. Don’t you want to get in me easy?” Rickard tilts his hips up as much as he can, and he watches Hampus’ gaze get hot for a second.

“Yeah. Alright,” Hampus agrees. He fiddles with the spreader bar for a second, then lets Rickard widen his legs until there’s a pleasant, minute burn on the inside of his thighs. The soft, soft cuff goes back on.

A tiny part of Rickard is still disappointed, the part that wishes Hampus had just slapped him instead of submitting to Rickard’s requests, that wishes he’d just _take_ for real. It’s been harder, ever since he broke into the NHL, to find guys who can do him how he wants. Now he’s got Hampus, and he likes Hampus a lot, but he just—

Hampus is patient and meticulous as he opens Rickard up, not even in a teasing way, and he slides in easy. He checks in constantly to make sure Rickard’s comfortable. Once he’s all the way in, he runs a hand through Rickard’s hair, guiding his head back for a kiss. His lips are so _soft_.

 It’s like every other time they fuck, only Rickard can’t really move. He doesn’t even _want_ to, really. Hampus is probably even going to give him a reach-around when he gets close coming.

 Rickard groans.

"You like that?” Hampus asks, in English and everything, because he picked it up from the porn Rickard likes.

“Hm, yeah,” Richard replies. Really, it is nice. It’s just not as much as he wants.

“Yeah? Well, that’s… good. That’s good.”

Rickard groans again. “You’re so bad at this.” And Hampus laughs, which is good, because, really, Rickard likes Hampus. He doesn’t want to hurt his feelings, it’s just— Rickard hopes Hampus finishes quickly. His hair keeps tickling his nose and there’s nothing much to distract him.

Which is probably why he hears it when someone pull into their driveway. “Did you order something? Invite someone over?”

“No,” Hampus grunts. “They’re probably just, fuck, turning around.”

A moment later, there’s loud, insistent knocking at the door. “Hampus —”

“They’ll leave,” he growls and, Christ, what a time to get into it. It turns Rickard on a little bit, because he’s predictable and Hampus ignoring him is close to what he wants, but he’s still paranoid about someone being so close while they’re fucking. Hampus and him are still fresh; they haven’t told anybody, and weren’t really planning to any time soon.

Hampus’ thrusts speed up, and Rickard moans. He tries to move with him, to get leverage, and he has one blissful moment of not being able to move when he wants to before they hear, clear from across the house, “Open up, assholes, I know you’re home!”

They both freeze. “Is that Jakob?” Rickard asks.

“He has an extra key,” Hampus says, horrified, like Rickard’s worries had just sunk in.

Hampus is off the bed in a second, pulling on clothes frantically.

Jakob doesn’t wait long. The knocking stops. The click of the front door being opened echoes..

“Holy shit,” Rickard says. “You gotta untie me.” He meets Hampus’ wide-eyed stare, and he sees when Hampus’ eyes cut over to the side door that leads outside. A jolt of panic runs through him. He repeats, frantic, “ _Hampus_ , what the fuck, get me out of this _right now_.”

They can hear Jakob walking closer, probably following the voices. Rickard can see Hampus make his decision, and dread settles deep in his gut.

“I’m sorry. The team can’t find out about us, I can’t —  just, just say your girlfriend got mad at you or something, play it off. I’m _so_ sorry, Ricky,” Hampus whispers, and then he practically sprints out the door.

“Fuck you, you fucking asshole! You can’t fucking leave me like this!” Rickard screams after Hampus, his heart knocking against his ribs. But the door closes behind him, and a second later the footsteps stop in front of his bedroom. “ _Fuck._ ”

Jakob looks a little too happy to see him, eyes wide and grinning. Rickard rolls his eyes and tries to shake the anxiety bubbling in his chest. He’d almost forgot how vulnerable it feels to be bound up around… well, anyone who wasn’t Hampus. He desperately doesn’t want Jakob to be seeing him like this. “Hi, buddy. You think you could me out here?”

Jakob laughs, delighted. “Holy shit. You’re really stuck there, huh?”

“Well, yeah. These are real, if that’s what you mean.” Rickard pulls at his wrists. They’re sturdy, same as earlier. Jakob laughs again, and when Rickard glances back, he can see that Jakob has his phone directed at him. Rickard cringes, ducking his head behind his shoulder is the best he can do. “Dude, what the fuck?” he says, voice cracking.

“Aw, come on, Ricky, don’t be like that. We would all know you by that cute ass, anyway.” Rickard feels his face get hot. _Embarrassed_ isn’t something he’s felt off the ice in awhile. His heart stops for a beat when he feels the bed dip, then starts beating painfully fast when Jakob’s hand lands on his calf.

“So how did you end up like this?”

Rickard swallows, trying to get his dry throat to work. “Some girl.”

“Yeah? You let ‘some girl’ tie you up? She wouldn’t even be able to get at your dick like this. What were doing instead?” Jakob says. His voice is mean, teasing, and from the way his hand is creeping up Rickard’s thigh, he already knows the answer. Jakob doesn’t hesitate once he gets to Rickard’s ass, just digs his fingers in and spreads him open.

Rickard knows what he looks like. Flushed. Slick. Like someone was just inside him. Jakob shouldn’t be seeing him like this, shouldn’t be touching him, but Rickard can’t _do_ anything, he can’t _move_. He can’t get any real leverage, and it only gets worse when Jakob climbs on top of him

“Aw, Ricky,” Jakob croons, palms gripping his ass, kneading it. “You could’ve just asked. We could give you the real thing.” He eases off, and then the sound of him undoing his zipper fills the room around Rickard’s panting.

“Oh, nonono. Jakob, come on, just untie me and I’ll… I’ll do whatever, just _please_ let me go,” Rickard begs. His arms are starting to burn from how hard he’s pulling at the ropes, and his legs, fuck, his legs can’t move an inch. It’s humiliating, having his legs spread so wide, exposing him, by fucking metal. He’s never felt so helpless, so fucking vulnerable.

He tries so hard to squirm away when he feels the head of Jakob’s dick at his hole, but he can’t go anywhere. The way Rickard’s been warmed up, how he’s tied, it’s _easy_ for Jakob to slide, fuck, just how Rickard wanted it to be—

When they’d first talked about doing this sort of thing, Hampus had spent so much time online trying to figure out how to do tie Rickard up safely. He’d spent so much time reading the team had started to notice, and Rickard can still remember the way his ears would turn bright pink whenever someone asked him about it. Rickard hadn’t thought much of it at the time, just another speed bump between him and what he wanted, but, God, Hampus must have learned neat tricks when he wasn’t looking. Rickard knew the ties were supposed to be tight, movement restricting, both for fun reasons and so that he didn’t hurt himself. Right now, it’s driving him insane how little he can move. His limbs are tied, obviously, but it’s like he can’t get _any_ leverage under him, no control he can grasp onto. He’d be thrashing, if he could, but instead he can barely even squirm.

Jakob didn’t even bother taking off his jeans. The back of Rickard’s thighs are chafed and sore by the time he’s done.

He holds Rickard open again, after, to watch his come leak out. Again, Rickard can’t do anything about it. He imagines Jakob, phone in hand again, but he’s too scared to look back and check. “Please,” he begs, voice soft. “You got what you wanted, please just let me go now. I won’t say anything.”

“What, and not share this with the team? Come on, don’t be greedy.”

 

***

 

“So how many guys beat me here?”

Rickard doesn’t answer at first. Another slap lands heavy on the undercurve of his ass, then four more, and then a hand wraps around his balls.

“ _No_ nonono, don’t,” Rickard chants, squirrely. He tries to bring his knees together, a muscle reflex, but he’s reminded again of how _stupid_ he was to let Hampus tie him up like this. “Three. Just three.”

“ _Just_ three?” Manson hums, uncaps the marker, and draws four cool lines down where the stinging crest of Rickard’s ass.

 

***

 

Bieksa is the eighth guy after Jakob to show up. 

 _Juice_. Rickard almost can’t believe it. Wouldn’t have, however many hours ago.

“Ah, kids,” Kevin sighs. He takes one look at Rickard’s ass and grunts in disgust. Rickard’s got to agree. “Got enough time to spell out their entire vocabulary but not enough to find condoms.”  

When Rickard doesn’t respond, Kevin wraps a hand around his jaw and pulls his head up. Rickard can’t meet his eyes, but he thinks his face softens a little when he sees the state Rickard’s in. “What did you get yourself into,” he mutters, not really a question, as he pulls the briefs — Hampus’, actually — out of Rickard’s mouth. “Whose bright idea is that?”

“Cam,” Rickard rasps out. He’s so thirsty. The dry cotton hadn’t helped.

“Ah.” Kevin tosses the fabric with a flick of his fingers and pulls out his phone. Rickard watches him out of the corner of his eyes, weary, but he just thumbs through it. After a minute, Kevin opens one of Rickard’s end tables and starts sifting through it. It’s almost funny that that still registers as a violation.

Still, Kevin flipping through old brochures and socks that didn’t make to the hamper are hardly the worst things from the day. Rickard untenses and forces himself to swallow a few times before saying, “Juice? Can you please untie me? I know this is supposed to be some sort of team bonding or something, but I’m so tired, I can’t do this anymore, I’m so sore…” Rickard rambles, but it’s true. Somehow, lying here, doing nothing, is so much worse than any drill any coach could inflict.

“Okay,” Kevin says, and for a brief second Rickard could cry from relief, before he continues, “I can see why Cam wanted to gag you now. Honestly, Ricky, just stop fighting it. Now, where do you keep your stuff?”

Rickard groans, deep in his throat, and sags back into the bed. He just wants to be able to _move_ , to curl up in a ball or cover his face or bend a fucking elbow. But he can’t do a damn thing. He  listens to Kevin go through the end tables, his closet, his dresser. A _thump_ indicates him checking under the bed, and Rickard’s gut churns when he hears the tote box being dragged out. Kevin isn’t one to put on from a performance, so he really doesn’t know what to expect when Kevin pulls his head back by his hair.

He has the silver ring gag dangling between his fingers, the one Rickard _hates_. It spreads his jaw too wide, and he can’t stand drooling all over himself, the feel of spit drying on his face.

Rickard doesn’t bother to beg, just clenches his jaw shut.

“Aw, Ricky, don’t be like that.” Kevin pushes the ring past Rickard’s lips, clanking it uncomfortably against his teeth. Rickard keeps his jaw locked, determined to keep this _one_ thing under control. Kevin sighs again, and Rickard’s prepared for Kevin to pinch his nose shut or something, but instead he digs his thumb into the soft spot where neck meets jaw. The sharp pressure makes Rickard cringe, and his jaw unhinges despite himself.

From there, it’s easy work to get the silver ring settled behind Rickard’s teeth and clasp the the buckle behind his head. His hair gets caught in it, but he can’t shake it free, and Kevin doesn’t care to. _Hampus would’ve,_ the smug part of his self preservation whispers. _You ungrateful shit._

It takes a few tries for Kevin to settle in front of Rickard and line his cock up to Rickard’s forced-open mouth. He spends a second rubbing the head against Rickard's lips and the silver ring holding him apart, but he doesn't linger very long before introducing himself to the back of Rickard's throat. He's not really mean about, not the way others have been. They’re just _selfish:_ rabbit thrusts, an impatient pace that doesn’t allow Rickard to catch his breath or swallow.

Rickard coughs it back up when Kevin comes in his mouth. Kevin’s dick is soaked when he pulls out, and he's out the door before Rickard can even try to wipe his face on the sheets.

 

***

 

Perry’s already there by the time Getzlaf shows up. He’s sitting on the small of Rickard’s back, all two hundred odd pounds of Corey pressing him down into the bed. He’s quiet, too, hasn’t said a word, and his touch trailing up and down Rickard’s back are oddly light. It’s an extremely unnerving situation, altogether. Damn near terrifying. Rickard’s sure he doesn’t want to hear anything Corey has to say in this situation, but the silence is so out of character that it still worries him.

Rickard breathes deeply, tongue curled under the ring, debating trying to say something, when Corey’s fingers drift over his ribs, close to his armpits. Rickard twitches, huffing once hard through his nose. Corey pauses, hands wrapped around Rickard’s sides.

For a moment there, Rickard thought that he couldn’t be surprised anymore, after being bound tight, abandoned by his boyfriend, fucked by more people than he cares to count, sticky and sore in ways that he only thought would be sexy. Leave fucking _Perry_ to somehow find a new way to make everything worse. 

Corey digs his fingers in, rubbing against the thin skin over his ribs. Rickard spasms, stronger than he has in a long while. Panicked laughter bubbles out of his throat. The distortion of the gag makes it hard to tell when they melt into screams. Rickard’s sides and stomach hurt within minutes, clenching hard to get away from Corey’s feather light touches. It’s hard to gasp in air between desperate giggles, harder still to try and tell Corey to stop, he’s going to _puke_ —

“Jesus, I thought you might actually be murdering him for a second,” Ryan announces as a hello. “If you make him piss himself before I get to fuck him, I’m switching you out.”

“What, now?” Corey asks, the first thing he’d said so far.

“Yeah, now, I ain’t interested in your niche fetish display. Shove off.” There’s some grumbling and bickering behind him, but Rickard takes the break to _breath_ , panting wetly.

When Ryan slides in, a touch cool enough to hint that he bothered with a condom, it almost feels normal, it’s almost a _relief—_

And then Corey’s fingers drift, lightly, over his ankle.  


 

***

 

Ryan loves the sound of his own voice. It’s something Rickard already knew, but remembering that right now breaks a little piece of him. He’s just really over the running narration. Hates how they talk about him.

Ryan talking about Hampus is worse. Ryan _calling_ Hampus, after figuring out the secret that started this mess, is the absolute worst. It still hurts to hear Hampus pick up so quick and say, “Baby, are you alright? Forgive —” before Ryan takes over again, rambling smugly as he writes something on Rickard’s ribs, making him cringe.

Rickard almost thought he was completely worn out, overwhelmed, so completely done, that he couldn’t possibly fight back anymore, but having Ryan’s hands on him with Hampus being able to hear them stirs another wave of _wrongness_ out of him. He strains, muscles trembling, but there’s nothing to keep Ryan from sliding his fingers his fingers into Rickard’s mouth, and then into his ass. It’s humiliating, of course it is, and so are the power displayers Ryan drags him through after, but this entire day has been humiliating. Now Rickard knows Hampus is coming home, that this will finally end.

Rickard hears breaks squeal outside the house not long after Hampus hangs up on Ryan. They really need to fix that, but right then, it was music to his ears, enough to make him want to cry again. Very distantly, Rickard is still so _angry_ at him, for being a coward and leaving him like this in the first place. A thick layer over that misses him desperately, wants Hampus to storm in and fix everything and pull Rickard back together.

Ryan leaves pretty quick after he’s played his role, switching places with Hampus. _Hampus_ , who’s chanting, “Sorry, sorry, I am so sorry,”  as his hands shake through undoing all the buckles holding Rickard down. His fingers are barely touching Rickard, which is so much different from usual, when he lingers and kisses and massages.

Rickard curls his limbs in, grinds his teeth, as they’re freed. God, he’s so sore. Even once he’s completely freed, he can’t quite get himself to move, can barely meet Hampus’ eyes. He looks so small, now that he’s here. Scared. Regretful. Rickard can sense him hovering over him.

A hesitant hand touches his shoulder, and, on impulse, Rickard says, “Don’t touch me.”

Hampus’ hand jerks back with another remorseful _sorry_.

It’s not quite what Rickard wants, really, but it felt good. He blinks slow, sorting through his warring needs. “I want a shower.”

“I can go start one,” Hampus offers, rushed.

Rickard thinks for a moment. “I don’t want to get up,” Rickard decides. He doesn’t particularly want to stay on this bed, either. Hampus can have fun washing that.

Hampus is quiet for a second, and then he says, still unsteady, voice cracking, “I could get you a wet towel? For… for the worst of… everything.”

Rickard looks at Hampus for a long second. “Alright. You do that. Then I am going to nap on the floor. You are going to have Roscoe’s waiting for me when I wake up. And after that, I am going to sleep again. For a long time.”

“Alright,” Hampus says. “Definitely. Whatever you want.” He still sounds so sad. Little late for that, Rickard thinks as a dark coil forms in his chest.

Rickard considers it for a long moment, and then he says, “Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit. Give me your phone.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Kesler-

The front door of the rookies’ apartment is unlocked, as expected. Entering is anticlimactic. The apartment looks the same as the last time he was there, messy in the way twenty-two year olds tend to be, only everything is quiet. But Ryan knew something interesting was waiting for him in deeper in.

Ryan makes his way into Rickard’s bedroom, and, well, pictures don’t lie.

“Oh, Ricky,” Ryan laughs. “Shit, your girlfriend got you good.”

Rickard’s face down in the bed, wrists tied to the bedposts and, best of all, legs spread wide open by the spreader bar locked between his ankles. Probably a bit wider than what’s comfortable, to counteract the hockey thighs. Ryan remembers something about a ring gag, too, which is confirmed when he lifts Rickard’s spit-slick chin out of the pillow it’s buried in. 

Rickard looks about how you’d expect after however many hockey players were let loose on him in the last few hours. Bruises, red marks, and hickeys were everywhere. Someone broke out a Sharpie and wrote  _ slut, whore, team bitch,  _ and _ FREE - > _ with a clever arrow pointing towards Rickard’s ass. There’s a running tally on his ass, smeared by sweat and come and whatever else. But definitely a lot of come.

Ryan lets out a low whistle. He traces over his teammate’s work, mostly to see Rickard flinch away from the touch. “You know,” Ryan says conversationally. “I’m surprised Hampus even decided to share. You kick him out this morning, thinking you were going to have a couple hours of kinky sex with your girl and didn’t want him to eavesdrop? Does your forever roomie even  _ know?”  _ Rickard makes a couple pathetic noises at that. “Don’t worry, I’ll call him for you. It’d be a damn shame he didn’t get a crack at this.”

Ryan slaps Rickard’s ass, just to be perfectly clear, and takes out his phone. He already has his quips lined up when he hears a buzz from the endside table. Two phones. Rickard is not living the kind of life where he needs two phones.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Ryan says. “You know what, that actually makes a lot of sense. What, he get scared? I don’t know why, the Ducks organization is an equal opportunities employer.” Rickard’s glaring at him, but it’s not a very effective look, through the tear tracks and all. “Still, it’s probably time he comes back and cleans up his mess. His car supports phone calls, right?”

Ryan has to use Rickard’s thumb to unlock his phone, and after that calling Hampus is a simple matter.

He picks up immediately. “Raring, är du ok? Förlåt —” 

“Hampus! I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, man, no Swedish,” Ryan cuts in, chastising. “But that’s a lesson for another day. You should consider hurrying up with whatever errands you’re running. Your roommate has a nice setup going on right now, it’d be a shame if you missed out on it.”

The line goes silent for a moment, except for the ambient sounds of rushing cars. Ryan takes the time to grab the uncapped Sharpie off the bed and write  _ 17 was here!  _ on Rickard’s ribs. Rickard jerks away from the first touch, but it’s clear that most of the fight has drained out of him. 

It takes a few passes for the sentence to show up; the marker’s nearly dead.

“Really,” Hampus says, sounding forced.

“Really, really,” Ryan replies. He thinks about it for a second, and then turns the phone on speaker. He lies the phone down next to Rickard’s head and grabs onto Rickard’s ass, pulling him open. Rickard thrashes a bit, clenches, tries pulls his knees together, but, damn, Ricky’s girl  knew what she was doing with that spreader bar. There’s nothing stopping Ryan from holding Rickard open, taking a good look at his red, puffy, come-splattered hole, and pressing his thumb against it. Despite the tension everywhere else, Rickard’s noticeably loose there. It’s been a long day for him, for sure. 

Ryan hopes Hampus got a good earful of Rickard’s desperate whines before he continues loudly, “Actually, you might want to hurry up. Things are a bit messy after, what, five, ten…  _ twenty-nine guys?  _ That’s more than there are on the roster, Ricky, what do you suppose happened there? Neighbors? Mailman? Did you call a plumber, by any chance?  _ Really, _ Hampus, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

The room’s quiet, except for Rickard’s panting, before Hampus says, “Jag är verkligen ledsen, j ag kommer tillbaka snart. ” And then the line goes dead.

“Kind of a rude fuck, isn’t he?” Ryan sighs. He lets go of Rickard’s ass, then wipes his hands off on his sheets. Not sure he accomplished much in terms of cleanliness, but he’s a little less sticky. “What’d he say?”

Rickard keeps his face buried in the mattress and doesn’t answer. Ryan sighs, and yanks Rickard head up by the hair until he’s forced to look Ryan in the eye. “Hey, you’re really not in any position to be acting like a little bitch. What’d he say?”

Rickard’s brow furrows, and it takes another rough shake for him to answer. “‘Uhiay.’”

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”

“‘O _ h  _ aye  _ ay.’ _ ”

“‘Oh my way?’ Seemed awfully long for just that.” Rickard blinks slow, and honestly, his watery eyes and red face and the way his mouth and tongue are trying to work around the gag in his mouth is making Ryan’s dick harden, just a little. 

“‘Ah hawee.’” 

“ _You’re_ sorry? Ah, babe, you got nothing to be sorry for. Gave all the guys something to do on their day off, earned the right to be called Pretty Ricky – in fact, hold on.” Ryan rubs his fingers against Rickard’s bruised lips for a second before shoving three of his fingers to the back of Rickard’s mouth. He does this a couple times, Rickard gagging and whining and trying to twist away every time. Of course, he can’t go far. Ryan doesn’t even have to move to keep his fingers in his mouth, or to wipe his fingers off on Rickard’s face between thrusts, although there’s not much he can do to add to the mess. 

Eventually, he buries his fingers deep and keeps them there, then takes his picture. He adds it to the collection in the team group text, then deletes it off his phone. 

With his participation points clocked, there’s nothing left to do but wait.

“Well, Ricky, what should I do now?” he asks idly. “Pardon me for not really wanting to bother with your ass right now; don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s honestly kind of a mess right now. Guess I could come on you, can never have enough come on you. Not sure it’d be tight enough for the time investment. I could jerk off with your hair, I guess. Girls always get pissy about that but, well, you can’t really stop me.” Ryan sits there next to Rickard’s limp body, cross-legged, tossing out suggestions. He’s not really responding, though, and it’s kinda sapping the fun out of the event. Ryan’s decidedly relieved when a car whips down the street and Rickard’s head jerks up at the sound.

“That kid is a hazard to everyone on the road,” Ryan says as he stands. “Looks like my watch is over. See you at practice tomorrow. Be a good boy.” He slaps the inside of Rickard’s thigh, just to see him jump, before leaving the room. 

Ryan runs into Hampus in the living room. “Hey, Hampus,” Ryan says. Hampus barely grunts as he practically runs to Rickard’s bedroom.

Ryan shakes his head. Kids these days.

**Author's Note:**

> [tthhee ttuummbbllrr (NSFW)](http://ratbarnaby.tumblr.com)


End file.
